


Daddy Issues

by Onlymostydead



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Child Abuse, Homophobia, M/M, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, Underage Smoking, dont read this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-03 03:17:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 4,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5274539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onlymostydead/pseuds/Onlymostydead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based the the song "Daddy Issues" by The Neighbourhood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Take You like a Drug

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING  
> READ THE TAGS.  
> If you are triggered by any of the things above PLEASE DO NOT READ.  
> I want you to be as safe and healthy as possible.

It had become a system.  
Every day after school Simmons would come to Grif's house for the hour he had between school and his day job.  
It had started as helping him with homework, then talking, who knew about what, anything to keep their minds off the stress in their own lives.  
Soon they were just waiting, every day, for that time together.  
No matter what had happened, an hour would always seem far too short a time.

If you asked Kai she would tell you that it's like they're getting a fix, and the more you think about it the more you can see it.  
Their lives seem to revolve around each other, the rest of the day they simply wander, alive but not living, just waiting for the next hit. A body devoid of a soul.  
Their love seemed more like intoxication, it was more like a drug.

It always seemed like a good idea in the moment. It was fun, it made you feel alive, happy, it washed away everything else.  
And perhaps, Grif thought, looking back on it, the high is what had made the withdrawal so painful.

...

You know that feeling you get when you look out at the sunset?  
Like you're both the smallest being and the only one that matters?  
That feeling where in that fleeting moment it seems as if you are eternal?  
Like that moment will never pass.  
That's how it began.

It began with the sunset.

That one afternoon on the fire escape after Grif's day job, the sun casting a golden glow on everything it's warm fingers touched.  
They didn't usually do this, but Simmons couldn't go home, and these papers needed to be finished anyway-  
Grif knew that he had mixed the truth with other desires.  
But who was to say he didn't have those same feelings?  
In the end he had stayed at the little apartment until Grif came home.

Sunset.  
The sky had been painted orange and red, swirled with purples and golds-  
It truly was a sight to behold.  
But to Grif, in that moment, the sun would set a thousand times and many more.  
Seeing Simmons like this, open, calm, the touch of a smile on his lips, almost like he was happy.  
Now that was the true sight here.  
He never wanted to forget that evening, the sun-cast glow, the heat...  
The way it was then, the warmth, Grif would kill for it to all go back to the way it was then.

Simmons inhaled sharply, turning about to face Grif, involuntarily inhaling the smoke Grif has just exhaled.  
"Grif, what are you thinking about?"

The space between the suddenly seemed too far, much too far, but at the same time it was dizzying how close they were.

"Whatever you're thinking about." Grif answered, slowly turning him head to properly face the taller of the two, whose face held a puzzled expression, cheeks flushed a light pink. He was looking away now, suddenly very interested in his tie, oh but the way he bit at his lip.  
He had something on his mind that just wouldn't let him be.

"Than-" Simmons breathed deeply. In. Out. In, as if trying not to panic. He licked his lip nervously, as if scared of something, or as he were-

"Than would it be alright if I-"  
Mustering up the courage to say something, to do something.

"Could I-"  
He swallowed, averting his eyes as quickly as possible,more interested in his tie than before.

The distraught thoughts and worries had been cut off by Grif's lips against his, his hand holding him closer.

Grif had pushed away after only a couple seconds, suddenly worried that he had taken it too far. No, the smile on Simmons' shocked face, he was redder than his hair.  
For once in his life he felt like he had done the right thing.

Simmons licked his lips and spoke-  
...  
But why couldn't Grif remember what he had said?  
It had been important, he knew that!  
He had never wanted to forget those words.  
But now, here he was, and there they were.  
Gone like that sunset that had happened so long ago-  
Gone like smoke in the wind.


	2. It's crazy what you do for a friend

The first time it had happened was terrifying.  
The second, devastating. Would this happen again?  
The third made Grif wonder if this was a habit, a constant state of hatred.  
Oh, but after that it was obvious.  
Though them together was a drug, it wasn't enough.  
Looking back at it, for either of them.

...

The times they went to Simmons's house were few.  
Something went on there, that Grif knew, but what made it a prison was still unknown to him, though that much was obvious. "I can't go home", "I'm scared", "Please don't make me go"... those were obvious enough.  
But the reality of the situation... Grif had no idea.

He had gone to the house to return a sweater that the redhead had forgotten at his apartment.  
He knocked.  
Again.  
Once again with no reply.  
Something had to be wrong, he was home, Grif knew that for certain. Simmons never went out, especially this late...

Grif tried the door.

Unlocked.

He glanced once again to the driveway, making sure no cars were present other than his own beat up truck.  
He took a deep breath and turned the knob.

The house was eerily quiet, the absence of light attempting to convince Grif the no, Simmons couldn't be here.  
But that was an old thing Simmons did, he knew this.  
Hiding was built into his nature.  
He closed the door behind him and continued into the house.

The first thing he noticed were the sobs.  
They cut through the air, soft and painful.  
Grif followed them to the bathroom.  
The door was shut and locked.

Second was the smell.  
Even from outside the locked door he could smell it.  
The scent of blood, thickening the air, making it toxic.

Not this again.

Grif exhaled.  
he had hoped that Simmons would be alright, what was going on that he didn't know about?  
The secrets built into their friendship, relationship, whatever the hell you wanted to call it would be their downfall.  
Even then he knew that.  
He tapped lightly on the door.  
The noise from the other side ceased altogether.  
"Simmons?"  
Grif's voice was met by a deep sigh, and after a few deep breaths Simmons's voice.

"Go away Grif-" His voice cracked, the sobs resuming.

"Simmons, you need to let me in."

"Just- you should go away- P-please."  
Despite his argument, the lock turned.

Grif braced himself, setting down the sweater and turning the knob-

He wasn't prepared for what faced him inside.

...


	3. Go Ahead and Cry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING!!!  
> This may be triggering.  
> Proceed with caution.

Grif braced himself as he turned the doorknob and walked into the room, anxiety writhing in his stomach.

Now, there are some things that no amount of preparation, or steeling yourself to will work.  
The death of a family member.  
The sudden realization that you're alone in the world.  
The words "I don't love you."  
The elusive answer to the ever present question, "Why are we here?"  
Or in this case seeing your best friend sobbing on the bathroom floor, naked, in a puddle of their own blood.

Grif's mind sought to rationalize what he saw, but each look revealed only worse aspects of the situation.

He had punched the mirror again, that much was obvious, seemingly many times. The entire thing was shattered, shards of glass were everywhere.  
Cuts covered his skin, littering his arms, his thighs, his breasts and stomach...  
Every inch of pale skin sliced open, oozing blood or just beading at the surface, every cut jagged.  
Gosh he had never looked so pale.

His hair, previously reaching his mid back, had been cut unevenly with the glass from the mirror.  
Both what laid on the floor and what was still on his head streaked with blood.

And here Simmons lay, in the center of this chaotic hell, crying, nothing but a pair of worn panties covering his thin, shaking frame, every single bone in his frail body seemed visible.

These are things that no one, no matter their strength, no matter their resolve, no matter how many times it had happened before, could be prepared for.

Still wearing his shoes, Grif tiptoed cautiously across the battleground of broken glass to Simmons, taking off his hoodie and wrapping it around him.

Simmons stared up with bloodshot eyes, tear streaks down his cheeks, but still fighting those tears in an attempt to seem strong.  
The tears still flowed freely, despite his best efforts.

"I'm alright." he managed to choke out, leaning heavily against the wall in an attempt to stand.  
The attempt, however, was as futile as his words as he collapsed back into Grif's arms.

"Go ahead and cry," Grif murmured into his ear, embracing him in his warm, stable arms. "I know how much it matters to you."

With any hopes to hold back, to seem strong, were abandoned, and Simmons just cried, sobbing into Grif's shoulder until the tears ran dry.

Grif had realized then, the bruises that always marked Simmons's body, the fear of going home, the way he always checked to make sure his fathers car wasn't in the driveway.

That was why.

That was why.


	4. I know that You have Daddy Issues

Have you heard that sound?  
That dreaded sound of anger, sorrow, disappointment, resentment, bitterness, betrayal, vulnerability, and confusion.  
The sound of silent tears and bandaging self-inflicted wounds.  
That terrible cacophony of sounds that is enough to deafen you or drive you insane.  
Unmistakable.  
Silence.

Silence was the thick pool they sat in, unbroken save for the occasional wince, the wetting of a bit of gauze, a murmured apology.  
Silence thick enough to be cut.

This had happened before-  
The thoughts raced through Grif's mind.  
Simmons had promised.  
He had PROMISED that this wouldn't happen again.  
But here he was.  
And here they were, Grif washing the dried blood off freckled skin once more, carefully wrapping each cut.  
Silently, always silently.  
Silently because he knew that if he opened his mouth, if he uttered a single sound it would take form as a scream or a sob.

Simmons knew his own guilt.  
HIS hands had done the damage here- his hands were always the ones that caused the damage, yet somehow Grif was always here cleaning up his mess-  
So why the hell did Grif care so damn much?  
All he ever did was pick up Simmons's pieces after he broke himself and put his back together.  
It puzzled him why Grif stayed.  
But Any word he said would open the door.  
The door to questions that he couldn't stand to answer but he would have too, he would have to eventually, he would have to face Grif's broken chocolate brown eyes filled with tears-  
Any word he said would be his undoing.  
He had to say something, but fear, fear is a powerful thing.  
So they sat in the silence of guilt, of shame, of despair-  
Neither daring to make a single sound.

Grif took a deep breath as he wrapped the last wound.  
Did he dare say a word?  
Could he?  
He opened his mouth to speak but no words came, drowned by Simmons's watery, bloodshot eyes meeting his own.

"It- It's my father," he took a deep breath, still shivering, pale from the loss of blood, his voice came as a mere whisper, a whimper-  
Simmons had never looked so small in Grif's eyes.  
He glanced away once again, pushing the now short red hair out of his eyes.

"He's the one that... He's-"  
Simmons's voice cracked and he lost his composure, what he had mustered up, lapsing back into shaking sobs.

Grif tried to tell him something- to tell his everything's alright, everything's going to be okay, but what if it isn't?

Simmons fell asleep in Grif's arms, still wrapped in the others faded brown jacket.  
When he knew that Simmons wouldn't be waked Grif gently kissed his brow.

"I know that you have daddy issues."

And like that he drove away- away from the house, the car that pulled into the driveway after he left, his best friend, broken and barely put back together.  
Only four words in his mind.

"And I do too."


	5. I Tried to Write your name in the Rain

Rain.

Every emotional scene in the movies uses the overused cliche, to amplify feeling.   
Whether it be a death, an apology, a betrayal, reconciliation...   
Finding love once lost.   
All occurs under an overcast sky, the emotion pouring down and seeping into your very bones, destroying the promise not to cry. 

Rain. 

The only element absent from the pitiful scene, knocking on the old apartment door in secret, late at night.   
Or was it now morning?   
The dawn had not yet come and the sky was bathed in darkness.   
Time passed by so quickly, and yet ever second felt as an eon. 

It had been weeks.   
November had come and gone, barely a word exchanged between the two.   
A reserved greeting in the hall.   
A set of stiff words carried out by stiffer demeanor.   
Wandering, waiting, wanting to; speak but yet lacking the words to say, or worse yet, the ability to say them.   
I'm sorry.   
I love you.   
Such small words are the hardest to say. 

December rolled in, the silence still thick as a fog between them, growing stronger each day. 

But here Simmons was.   
Outside the apartment door, hesitating to knock because what if Grif had given up?   
What if he couldn't stand it any longer?   
What if Simmons was nothing more than a lost cause to him?   
Simmons had told himself that this couldn't be true, that Grif was safety, but yet the fears still persisted, begging him to give in to the paranoia.   
Running to Grif was running away from responsibility, from the inevitable sacrifice he was going to have to make.   
The choice of what he would have to lose in order to go on.   
A pseudo safe house, a temporary fix.   
But despite the fear, despite the words of apology he knew were the price of admission here Simmons was. 

To choose. 

He knocked.


	6. The Shade always come at the Worst Time

Together again.

Simmons breathed in the ever so familiar smoke that always lingered around Grif.  
It somehow managed to be calming, then and there.  
They stood together on that same fire escape.  
Not a word passed between them as night faded to day.

It seemed as if that moment could last forever.  
But to Simmons this was only the calm before the storm.  
The inevitable words pricked at the back of his mind.  
Begging, no, demanding to be said.  
The unpleasant reminder of reality.  
Please.  
Couldn't they stay here a little longer, before the end?  
Just a minute longer.  
Please.  
Maybe that wasn't the only option.  
Please can we stay a little longer.  
He pleaded with himself, but the sky darkened as if on cue.  
The only answer.  
He knew what he had to do, but couldn't they stay for a moment more?

Simmons muttered something under his breath, the sky darkening once more, clouds stealing the light.   
Grif glanced up at him.  
He looked beautiful.   
Calm.  
But only at first glance.  
He held tightly to the sleeve of the jacket Grif had left with him so long ago.  
Biting his lip as he always did when lost in thought, his eyes filled with worry.  
Yet acceptance.

"What're you thinking about?"   
Grif asked, his voice soft, delicately placing a hand on Simmons's shoulder.

He stared into space a moment more, his face overtaken by a blank look.  
Grif would look back on it, remembering all that unfolded after, and wonder how he was so calm.  
He had reached the breaking point.

He was about to ask if he was alright when Simmons laughed.

"Whatever you're thinking about."

In that shared moment Simmons second guessed himself.  
As they stood on that same fire escape, just laughing all was so much like that August evening in the sunset so long ago, when it seemed as if nothing else mattered.  
Only them.  
The sun broke through the clouds for a moment before being once again enveloped in clouds.  
Words once again pricked at the back of Simmons's mind.  
Just like that, the moment was gone like smoke in the wind.

Simmons had said something, Grif was sure of it.  
While they still smiled.  
Under that bout of laughter he had said something he had never wanted to forget.  
So why did he now?  
He knew so clearly what had happened next.  
He had leaned in.

Simmons had backed away. 

He remembered so clearly the words he had said after.  
The pain.  
Yet the joy was gone.

The darkness remained.


	7. I know how much it matters to You

"I can't do this anymore."  
Grif remembered the way Simmons's voice echoed in his mind, the words bringing time to a standstill.

"We can't do this, we can't- we can't just keep going on like- like everything's okay, because it's not! And-and we both know it Grif so why-"  
His voice cracked, cutting off his words.

"We have to let this go sooner of later."  
Grif listened, unable to speak as Simmons removed the jacket and pressed it into his hands.  
He remembered the way he had shuddered, despite the warmth of the air, his thin arms wrapped in bandages.

"But Dick-"

"Don't call me that, it's a lie, it's a fucking lie and we both know it."

The words were still fresh in his mind, echoing as if that day on the fire escape had been just yesterday-

Simmons had raised his voice.  
He had tried to sound angry, his hands curled into fists and his teeth clamped down on his lip.  
But his voice was cracking, and the tears kept falling down his face.

"We can't do this anymore- I- I-"  
He bit his lip harder, until it almost bled.  
Tears fell steadily from his eyes, the sobs chocking out his words.

Yet Grif's eyes remained dry.  
Stunned.

"I at least have to- to try- I have to try to be some- something- to be worth something- to be-"

He licked his chapped lips and wiped at his eyes in a futile attempt to dry them.

"To be a daughter he'll be proud of."

Grif had reached out to him, desperate to say something.  
Anything.  
But it's all too fast, and Simmons is gone.  
The jacket in his hands and the words playing over and over in his head the only proof of the words exchanged.

Grif was alone.  
Only his memories to keep him company.  
His eyes still dry.  
Unable to shed tears.   
It had all gone to fast.  
And now he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not sorry.


	8. If you were Mine

It had been sunset.

That moment, still so clear in Grif's mind, just the two of them, the sun casting their faces in a warm, golden glow.  
Smiles on their faces and hope in their hearts.  
Hope for better days.  
The love they shared back then of the fire escape.  
Like it would never run out.

The time they had snuck out in the dead of night, just because they couldn't bear to be in the dusty little town for any longer.  
They had just run away and hid, because neither of them could bare to stand another minute in the dusty old town.  
It hasn't seemed cowardly then.  
It was just how they got by.

Simmons had been so nervous, so jumpy.

"What if we get caught?"

And Grif had just laughed.  
He could still hear the way Simmons squeaked when he took his hand and warped it in his own.  
The flutter of eyelashes and the warm, contented smile.  
His head resting on Grif's shoulder.

The way he tucked his hair behind his ears when he explained something, yet the auburn locks always fell right back into his eyes.  
And Grif could never focus, too busy drinking in the sight of his friend so calm, so beautiful.  
And how Simmons's blush put the red of his hair to shame, freckles making a sharp contrast against such flushed skin.  
Beautiful.

How he insisted that he couldn't sing, yet in the passengers seat of Grif's beat up truck he seemed content to sing along with the radio for hours.

The nicotine brought back memories of his lips, how kissing him was like intoxication, like a drug.

Yet it wasn't enough, was it?

Grif shook his head.  
No, he told himself.  
Give yourself the luxury of rose-tinting the past, just for right now because I the morning you won't have that luxury.

He can remember that Simmons used to say something, but he can never remember what it was, though it had been so important.  
It's funny how your brain does that.

He turned now to Simmons, to ask him what it was he said.  
Only to be faced with the reality that he was alone.


	9. I didn't Cry when you Left at First

The words.

Grif could hear the faint echo playing over and over in his head.  
Replaying everything again and again.  
Like a broken record.  
He tried to understand what they said.  
He tried to ask but they never replied.  
Or maybe he just couldn't understand.  
Could he ever understand?

It had been weeks.  
Or had it been months now?  
Time had lost all concept, the sense in it faded like an old shirt, once vibrant but now dull and worn.

Soon after he had been forced to drop out of school to take care of Kai.  
There was never enough, no matter how hard he tried.  
Everything was slipping through the cracks.  
Then it happened.  
It all fell apart.

The echoes, those damn echoes.  
Grif could hear Simmons's laugh, he could see his smile, burning behind his eyelids every time he closed his weary eyes.

But they were just that.  
Echoes.  
Because the happiness was gone.  
Grif would kill to hear him once more.  
Or to make it all stop.  
But somehow hearing him was better than silence.  
And so he calls the number once more.

He calls.

And calls.

But Simmons's number isn't valid anymore, no matter how many times he calls.  
No matter how many times he knocks at the door it's never the redhead who answers.  
Grif likes to pretend he will be standing there, his hair tousled, a nervous smile playing across him lips.  
He would be pulling at the cuffs of his long sleeves, or straightening his tie.  
And he would be so happy to see him.

It was all so vivid, and he wanted to tell him everything, so keep him close.  
To make him stay, even if just for a short time.  
To hold on.

But it's not Simmons he's holding it's a damn piece of paper.  
And he can remember what Simmons had said.

"I think I might love you."

It had been so hopeful that evening in the sunset, just the two of them on the fire escape.  
Hope for a bright future.  
Together.

"I think I might have loved you."

The shift to past tense, the tears falling down Simmons's face.  
And the dryness of his own eyes.

Because there, scrawled in Simmons's spidery thin writing on the torn piece of paper was the last words.

"I think I could have loved you."


	10. This time I've gotta know

Tears fall, smearing the writing on the torn piece of paper.  
On his lap rests the old brown jacket, same same one he had worn that night on the fire escape.  
Grif held the worn fabric in his hands briefly, before pulling on the article and leaving the apartment.  
As he climbs up into his beat up truck he can see Simmons in the passengers seat, complaining about the music but never once changing the station.  
Driving past the school he can see Simmons grab his hand, scolding that they would be late to class.  
Grif would kiss him then, and he would turn the most brilliant shade of red, spluttering, unable to form a coherent sentence.  
Grif would remind him that they would be late for class and Simmons would elbow him in the gut, never very hard, and run as fast as he could through the crammed halls.  
Somehow they were never late.

Stop at the red light and remember his laugh, the timbre of his voice, the high pitched tone he slipped into when he was angry.  
Not once did he yell.  
Not until...

Grif pulled into a parking spot and got out of the car, careful to remember the two pieces of paper in the passenger seat beside him.  
He walked through the green, weaving through the tombstones until he reached the one.  
The most recent, barely covered by the layer of dust that coated everything in Blood Gulch.  
The wrong name carved into the stone, an old school picture leaning against it.  
Simmons had looked dead there, shoulders stiff, eyes glassy. His long hair falling across his shoulders.  
Grif carefully placed the first piece of paper in front of it.  
The photo was of Simmons, laughing on the fire escape. He looked more alive then than ever, arms wrapped with bandages, wearing the jacket Grif had left with him before.  
Grif removed the jacket now, folding it neatly and laying it down on the grave.  
Simmons had gotten cold so easily in life.   
He needed it to keep warm.

Finally he took out the note.  
Along with the lighter in his pocket.  
He burned the piece of paper there, the words, so easily forgotten before, were now seared into his memory.  
Imprinted there by the boy who had been everything and more.

Grif stayed there for hours.  
Crying.  
Crying because he was gone, they were all gone.  
His father had been the first to leave, before he even knew.  
His mother soon after, leaving him with the responsibility that should have been hers, Kai.  
She had come back, but only to take Kai away.  
Because Grif couldn't handle it.  
They had been so hopeful, he had been so hopeful that Simmons would stay, that that hope would last.  
But he was gone, they were all gone.

For a fleeting moment he could feel Simmons's arms around him, urging him to cry, telling him it was okay.  
That everything was okay.

But he really was gone.  
All dressed up, his body patched back together.  
Buried six feet under.

If only things had been different.  
But they weren't.  
Because happy endings don't exist.  
They never got to run away together.  
They never got their happily ever after.

**Author's Note:**

> So... how was that?


End file.
